


ours is the fire

by sodium_amytal



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, PWP, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most days, Jimmy feels like everyone else knows he's a love-struck fool. Like he's constantly fighting to make sure no one sees the surreptitious glances he casts at Robert or how the syrupy timbre of Robert's voice brings a smile to his face. Because no one would trust him if they knew he wants things he can't have, wants things he's not allowed to ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ours is the fire

**Author's Note:**

> this is probably the only thing i'll ever write for this ship (or any of my otps, really) that doesn't end happily ever after  
> i'm just not built to write angst 8(

A lot of things seem like good ideas after the night ends in thunderous applause. Coming down off that adrenaline spike of adoration and excess usually requires some help. Which is probably why Jimmy knocks on the door to Robert's suite, clutching an empty bottle of Jack like a security blanket.

Sooner or later, Jimmy needs to start making good decisions. He may or may not be covered in glitter. And, okay, maybe Robert's more of a gigantic pervert than he gives himself credit for, because Jimmy—stupid-eyed with his fine motor skills a tinge off—is outrageously hot. Sober, he's all about control, and when he's liquored up he keeps a decent amount of said control. But Robert gets the sense that Jimmy can be bent and nearly broken, and that he might actually like it.

"Your room is next door," Robert reminds him.

"You can be so rude sometimes," Jimmy chides. He sort of pushes his way inside, and Robert's just going to ignore that for now. Jimmy moves closer and, Christ, talk about a contact high.

"You smell like sex and booze."

"'S a good night."

"And you look like you fell out of David Bowie's arse." Seriously, that glitter needs to be addressed.

Jimmy laughs a melodic sound and raises the bottle to his lips. "It's empty," he says with a frown, to no one in particular. The bottle ends up on the floor. Robert's about to grumble something about not trashing his room, but his thoughts screech to a halt when Jimmy practically pours himself into Robert's lap.

Robert's pulse thunders in his ears. Jimmy's sitting on his thigh, and apparently whiskey-dick does  _not_  apply to him. Jimmy's breath shoves out like it's the last he'll ever get. His balls are hard and tight through his jeans; Robert has no idea why that turns him on so much. Sure, Jimmy's attractive—Robert thinks anyone who's ever met Jimmy has wanted to fuck or be fucked by him. But there's an edge of desperation to him now, and Robert's a little peeved Jimmy's chosen him to be his drunken end-of-the-night mistake.

He breathes out hard and struggles valiantly to ignore his own erection. There's a curl of a smile at the corner of Jimmy's mouth, and he lays his hands on Robert's shoulders. Robert's got half a mind to shake him off, but he doesn't. "What are you doing?"

Jimmy answers that by grinding his dick into Robert's thigh and making a throaty groan Robert's never heard before. If Jimmy's as raw and gritty during sex as he is onstage... Robert can't even think about the things Jimmy could do to him with those fingers without his heart jumping as if he's said them out loud.

"You'll fuck anything that moves, won't you?" Jimmy says, a leer of arrogance in his voice as his hips dig in again. Robert sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Bonzo says you've got a bit of a thing for me anyway."

That motherfucker. Robert  _knew_  that would bite him in the ass later. Why does he tell anyone anything? "When did he say that?"

"Just a little while ago." Jimmy grinds into Robert's thigh again with self-satisfaction.

"And you believe him? Pagey, last night we convinced him he drank himself back in time just by replacing everything modern in his hotel room with old books and a typewriter."

Jimmy laughs, and, Jesus, he's so fucking hot Robert can't stand it. "That was a good night." His hands flutter up to push through Robert's thick, golden mane. Jimmy's fingers brush over the throb of his pulse in his neck. Robert swallows a frustrated half-sob and fights a losing battle with his complexion. He can barely remember what he's supposed to be protesting when Jimmy's hard and ready in his lap.

"You can't—" Robert chokes out. "This isn't something you get to play with. I can't believe you would—"

"Would what?" Jimmy tilts his head and looks at him in honest, open surprise. "You want to screw me, well, here's your chance."

Robert wants to tell him it's about so much more than that. It's always been the two of them honing this thing and creating a zeitgeist. Sure, Jonesy and Bonzo are critical to the success of the group, but they don't have the near-telekinetic bond Robert and Jimmy share.

The distance and time away from home wouldn't matter if Robert chose Jimmy. They could make it work. But Robert's too fucking cowardly to ever say it, too afraid of losing everything he's built.

This is probably his only chance to take whatever he wants from Jimmy. This is years of sexual tension unraveling in an instant. Robert's always wanted this. He's got no excuse for staring at Jimmy like a fucking idiot.

Jimmy's lips are slightly parted. Robert wants to reach up and pull them open with his thumb, cover that mouth with his own. Jimmy curls his fingers around the base of Robert's neck, underneath his hair. Robert knows right then that he's going to do this.

He hauls Jimmy up his thigh, hands wrapped around his ass. Jimmy breathes out a startled sound of want and grinds in, a slave to the friction there. Robert feels dizzy, because there's no way this is happening. But Jimmy's hot and solid against him, and it's a swirl of wrong and right all at once. He tears at the front of his jeans, ignoring the way the zipper teeth grate against his hand as he shoves in to palm the bulge there. Jimmy groans a greedy, shuddery sound and rocks against his thigh. Robert slides his hand inside, under the elastic waist of underwear, and finds Jimmy warm and hard.

Jimmy's got that stunned, mouth half-open thing going on that Robert finds ridiculously hot. His head tips back in pleasure as Robert strokes and squeezes. Robert's bedded plenty of women, but none of them made the kind of sounds Jimmy's breathing out now. Maybe it's about ego, because Jimmy's always been the one teaching Robert how to do things. This is something Robert can do for him, something Jimmy can't criticize.

With Jimmy uncoordinated and drunk, this has to be an abuse of  _something_. Robert can't believe how much he wants this, wants it so much his lungs feel like they'll burst. The thought of stopping makes him squeeze harder, one hand wrapped around Jimmy's ass to keep him steady.

Jimmy groans and digs his fingers into Robert's shoulders. The bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows is intoxicating. But Robert wants to see how Jimmy's face reacts to every shift and stroke of his hand. He grabs Jimmy's hair and finds it easy to just pull until their foreheads touch. "I want you to watch," Robert says. Jimmy makes a faint noise in his throat that Robert's dick loves. "I want you to see what I'm doing to you."

Jimmy wet his lips and looks at him. There's something vulnerable there before he drops his gaze and grinds into Robert's thigh. Robert squeezes his fist around the base of Jimmy's cock, and they find a rhythm that's a sexual echo of everything they are together: raw, graceless, and dirty. Jimmy's a mess of want, gasping, "Please, please," into the curve of Robert's neck. His dark hair billows in waves between them, but Robert can't look away from how Jimmy's dick glistens pearly white at the head, getting Robert's hand filthy with it.

"I want—" Jimmy chokes out. "God, you gotta—" His chest heaves with shallow breaths. Robert likes the look of it, so he pushes at the edge of Jimmy's shirt, enough to see the rise and fall of his stomach. His thumb tracks the vein underneath Jimmy's cock and rubs right below the head. Jimmy whines in protest. His hips roll into the slide of Robert's fist, then he's making shocked, broken noises as he loses it completely. His head's tipped back, and Robert doesn't bother tugging at his hair again, transfixed by how Jimmy looks when he comes.

Robert strokes him through the aftershocks, his heart flapping in his chest like a caged condor. A lot of things are excusable in the wake of post-show adrenaline, but this is pushing it. He's supposed to fuck groupies, not jerk off the bandmate he's had an unattainable crush on for years. Somehow, that seems like a betrayal, crossing lines that exist for a reason.

Jimmy's a cum-smeared, drunken mess, his breaths fragile and shuddery. His fingers shift and twitch in Robert's hair. Robert's just ignoring the way his own dick's tenting furiously in his jeans. He thinks about getting Jimmy on his knees and fucking his mouth, calling it retribution. But Robert doesn't want to use Jimmy for something he'll regret later. Jimmy won't remember any of this come morning, and isn't that the saddest fucking thought.

Robert breathes out a sigh. His hand's still wrapped around Jimmy's flagging, dripping cock. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me, do you?" he murmurs, and it sounds deafening, slicing through the airy huffs of Jimmy's breathing. Robert feels shaky and loose and wrong.

Jimmy goes still, his breath catching in his throat. He looks at Robert like he's gutted wide open and doesn't know how to handle it. His brow creases like he's deliberating, lost in the back-and-forth of his thoughts. Robert fears he's said too much and opens his mouth to take it back when Jimmy leans in and kisses him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Jimmy tastes like mint, tobacco, and whiskey, just like Robert imagined he would. If Robert was a better man, he would stop this and push Jimmy away. Instead, he tilts his head into the kiss and opens his mouth for the fierce slide of Jimmy's tongue.

Jimmy's hands are on either side of Robert's face. Robert feels the quick clench of fingers against his jaw. He shoves his hands—slippery with sweat and cum—underneath the edge of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy pushes into Robert's hands like he wants this. Robert fights the urge to pull him further into his lap, to wrap around his ass and just take. He hums around the kiss and curls the fingers of his left hand around Jimmy's wrist. Robert guides him to where his cock is a solid throb of need. He moans in relief at the touch of Jimmy's hand, but Jimmy pulls away like he's been burned. He wrenches his mouth away and staggers out of Robert's lap.

"You can't just do this," Jimmy chokes out, words pulled up in his throat like they hurt. "You can't." Like Robert's the one who barged into Jimmy's room and starting grinding on his thigh.

Jimmy tucks himself back into his jeans, and Robert doesn't know where he went wrong. He didn't mean to suggest that Jimmy return the favor. It was supposed to show Jimmy what he does to Robert, how fucking turned on he makes him. But maybe that's what started the skid into this trainwreck of a sexual experience.

Fuck, Robert's never been so conclusively rejected before.

"I'm sorry," Robert mumbles, trying to backpedal away from whatever he did wrong. He only means it for tonight's crossed boundaries, but it sounds like he's sorry for everything. "I was just—I don't know, I'm sorry."

"I—I should go." Jimmy doesn't even give Robert time to say anything. He rushes out the door and leaves Robert alone with an erection and a mess of thoughts.

* * *

They don't talk about it until after the next show. Under normal circumstances, Robert would pretend it never happened and forget the whole thing. But Jimmy dry-humping him, letting Robert jerk him off, and kissing him don't fall under the heading of "normal circumstances." It's perfectly reasonable to bring this up. If Jimmy's harboring any non-platonic feelings for him, Robert needs to know about it.

He takes Jimmy aside that night, away from the raucous din of the afterparty, and inquisitions him in the hallway. "So," Robert starts, dragging out the word. He isn't sure how to breach the subject, so he just dives right in. "About last night..."

Jimmy arches an eyebrow; the rest of his face stays placid. Robert still doesn't know how the fuck he does that. It must be a superpower. "What about it?"

Robert wets his mouth. "You kissed me, remember?"

Jimmy's staring at Robert like he's gone mad.

Robert keeps talking, because that's what he does when he's nervous. "Do you—do you do that often? Just blunder into someone's room and let them"—he swallows at the memory of Jimmy's head tilted back in bliss—" _do things_ , and kiss them, and make them feel—"

"I never kissed you," Jimmy cuts in. He looks confused and slightly angry.

There's no way Robert dreamt that hard clench of fingers against his jaw or the slick, messy slide of his fist around Jimmy's cock or the way Jimmy sounds when he comes. His imagination isn't that good.

"Yes, you did."

Jimmy huffs a bitter-sounding laugh. "No, I didn't. You must be confusing me for some girl you brought up to your room."

Robert scowls. "You did more than just kiss me, you know." He lets that one hang in the air. In case Jimmy doesn't hear the subtext there, he adds, "I touched parts of you that were very, very male."

Jimmy glances away for the length of one heartbeat. If Robert hadn't been paying attention he wouldn't have caught it. But Jimmy can't hide the way blood pools beneath his cheeks. "My, my, Percy. I didn't know you fancied blokes. How long has this been going on?"

Robert gives him a flat look, because that's so not what this is. Jimmy is a terrible liar, but there has to be a reasonable explanation for this. And Robert would figure out if he'd just stop thinking about what it could have been.

Jimmy moves to head back to the party. He tosses a glance over his shoulder at Robert. "Whatever happened last night, whoever you were with, it's best to just forget it and move on," he says, before disappearing inside the room.

Robert takes a shaky breath in the static of Jimmy's exit and feels himself quiver like a weak nerve.

He has to be wrong about this somehow, viewing it from an improper angle. Jimmy wasn't so drunk that he wouldn't remember. They're close enough that Jimmy could admit the whole thing was a drunken mistake.

And if it had been Robert's mistake, he'd understand the denial route completely. But Jimmy was the one who dropped into his lap, offered Robert the chance to fuck him, and let Robert jerk him off. And the kissing. Can't forget the kissing.

That was a thing that actually happened, as much as Jimmy pretends otherwise. And it wasn't a hallucination brought on by mind-altering drugs or alcohol. Robert's still having trouble wrapping his head around that.

He isn't sure when Jimmy stopped being "incredibly hot friend who's also incredibly off-limits" and started being "incredibly hot friend I would marry in a heartbeat if he weren't so emotionally constipated."

* * *

Robert doesn't bring the subject up again for a few days, which Jimmy anticipated would happen. His callous, cutting denial sliced clean through whatever foolish emotions Robert developed. He hopes Robert's too wounded to see this for what it is.

It's Jimmy's own fault he's knotted in this mess of want and anger and recklessness. But Robert's supposed to be better than this, God damn it. He's supposed to be disgusted and offended that Jimmy could ever feel this way for him. Because Robert's all heart and optimism and goodness, the sun to balance out Jimmy's own darkness.

Most days, Jimmy feels like everyone else knows he's a love-struck fool. Like he's constantly fighting to make sure no one sees the surreptitious glances he casts at Robert or how the syrupy timbre of Robert's voice brings a smile to his face. Because no one would trust him if they knew he wants things he can't have, wants things he's not allowed to ask for.

So Jimmy drowns himself in the things he  _can_  have: easy women and good booze. He doesn't have to pretend or even try, just smiles and the girls are all over him, young and eager and willing to do anything. And no one notices when Jimmy slinks away to his room with a girl on his arm, because Bonzo's channeling the fucking Hulk, Peter's yelling about something, and Robert and Jonesy are pretending not to know either of them.

Jimmy indulges, feeling a little like a thief in how willing the girl is. There are no dissent or protests made when he's inside and pushing through the anger. He doesn't speak a single word when they're connected, just shoves in, fierce and urgent. Jimmy catches himself thinking about wide hands digging into his back, a body too solid and heavy to be a woman, a chest flat in the wrong—or right?—places, golden curls splayed over pillows. It's the wrongest thing he's ever wanted, and that's what gets him there, dragging him over the edge.

Of course, the girl will tell her friends Jimmy was "wild" and "passionate," blissfully unaware he got himself off thinking of Robert. Jimmy finally has something in common with most of the band's groupies now. It would make him laugh, but he hates himself for it. He needs to burn all the thoughts out of his head, but he can't even enjoy this without wishing she were someone else.

Clearly, the universe feels the need to balance out his fame and fortune with personal misery. Fan-fucking-tastic. He's a walking embodiment of the tortured artist cliché.

Almost an hour later, a knock sounds on the door. Jimmy huffs a sigh and pulls on a robe, cinching the tie around his waist. He swings open the door, sees Robert standing there, and wonders what he might have done in a past life to deserve this.

"What?" Jimmy growls, feigning annoyance.

Robert presses his lips together, looks away for a moment. "I—I wanted to talk to you." He peers around Jimmy and must see the girl there, because he adds, "Privately." Then, as if second-guessing: "If—if you're not busy, of course. Did I interrupt? Oh God, put a bloody sock on the door or—"

"Stop talking," Jimmy says, making a noise like listening to Robert is a terrible hardship. He turns away to tell his lady friend to, uh, hit the road. Of course, Jimmy doesn't phrase it that way; he's never rude to his "dates."

She gets dressed and kisses him; Jimmy doesn't mind, though he wonders if Robert's feeling a pang of envy. "I had fun," she says sweetly as he walks her to the door. Jimmy smiles, but there's nothing behind it. He probably would have let her stay if Robert hadn't shown up—not out of attachment or kindness, though. These women mean nothing to him. They could never reach him, so why not let them stay?

The girl flashes Robert a full-wattage smile as she leaves the room. The disdain Jimmy sees on Robert's face must be wishful thinking. He shouldn't want Robert to be jealous, but alas, here he is.

"So what's your pressing dilemma?" Jimmy says. Robert pushes him inside the room and shuts the door behind them. Then he covers Jimmy's mouth with his own, possessive and wanting, and Jimmy doesn't even try to stop him. He raises a hand, like he might push Robert away, but lets it fall limp to his side. Jimmy opens his mouth and takes it all, wants to stop his hands from pushing into Robert's hair, but they're already there, fingers gnarled around curls. Jimmy sighs something desperate around the kiss. He can feel the warmth of breath against his cheek.

"You remember, don't you?" Robert murmurs around Jimmy's mouth.

It's not fair Robert did this to prove a point. Jimmy wants to shove him away, but instead he just kisses him harder until it's all sting and sensation. Robert's palm glides over Jimmy's chest, skin on skin. Jimmy gasps a choked noise that sounds like a sob. He needs to stop this now. This isn't something he should push, because Robert kisses like he's never wanted anyone but Jimmy. Jimmy doesn't want this.

That's a lie. Jimmy's afraid of how much he wants this. Afraid of knowing Robert wants the same things.

Jimmy turns his head and breaks their mouths apart. His trembling hands push at Robert's chest. "Don't do this," Jimmy rasps, his voice harsh and broken. "God damn it, please..."

"Because you're not drunk this time?" Robert snaps.

Jimmy feels the words like a slap against his cheek. So he retaliates with a verbal slap back. "Because I'm not a home-wrecker!"

And there it is, every reason against this wrapped up in a tidy package. Robert's mouth presses into a frown. He takes a quick breath, his eyes mournful and hard. "That isn't fair. You  _cannot_  use that against me."

Except Jimmy absolutely can, because Robert is married, for Christ's sake. He's supposed to be above the betrayal and lust.

"You're so certain every girl you've slept with is single?"

Jimmy shrugs. "If they lie to me, that's their prerogative. But you can't." He takes Robert's hand—the hand with a tan line on its third finger—and brushes his lips over his knuckles. "You married too young."

"People drift apart, you know. Couples separate." It sounds like a plea, and Jimmy doesn't know how to feel about that.

Jimmy meets his eyes, igniting under his gaze. "Would you?" The words shake out of him. Because he already knows the answer.

Robert glances away for a half-second. Jimmy watches the bob of his throat when he swallows. "It feels like there's something missing. I thought I would be happy with Maureen, and maybe I am, but... It's different with you."

Jimmy winces, the admission like a hot poker on his skin. "You shouldn't want this..."

"I don't. I want you. But if this comes with it, I'll take that too."

Jimmy shakes his head, paints over the words with harsher ones of his own. "You're still married. You have children!"

"So you don't bat an eye at the girls, but when I want  _you_  suddenly you've got a problem with fidelity?"

"We both know those are two completely different things." Jimmy rakes a hand through his hair. "Sex with these women is just—it's a physical act, like shaking hands. But with us... we care far too much for each other to carry on that way. And I don't—I don't want to be responsible for ruining your family."

It's more than Jimmy should have said, but Robert needs to know how every touch grates like glass. "Maureen doesn't deserve to lose just because I want something," Jimmy explains. "It would be the biggest mistake we could ever make. I can't—I won't do that to you."

Robert lays his hand along the side of Jimmy's face. Jimmy goes still under the touch, as if it might shatter him. "You feel that, don't you?" Jimmy's pulse thrums under his skin, setting his world ablaze. "How could that be wrong?"

Jimmy thinks about telling Robert all the ways it already is. But what trips off his tongue is, "If you wanted to leave her, you would have done it already. But I know you. You love her and you love your children, and that's the way it should be."

Robert opens his mouth to protest, but Jimmy cuts him off. "Please, don't push this," he begs. "Because I don't have a bloody chance if you do."

" _I'm_  not pushing anything," Robert snaps, suddenly furious. "You're the one who started all this!"

"I was—" Jimmy scrubs a hand over his face. "I was drunk! Like you've never made a bad decision under the influence."

"You knew how I felt, and you used it—used  _me_. Because now you wanna act like it never meant anything. Since we feel the same way about each other we should just forget about it and go our separate ways? Why? In what world does that make sense to you?"

Jimmy sighs, exhaustion and sadness piercing his heart. "You need to go. Get over this. Call her and make things right." He lays his hands on Robert's chest and pushes instead of pulls. He knows exactly what will happen if Robert stays, and it scares the shit out of him. "You're married."

"Stop saying that."

"Maybe if you stopped giving me reasons to remind you." Jimmy tries to reassure himself that he's doing the right thing, sacrificing his happiness for the sake of Robert's marriage. But he still feels dirty and wrong, like just wanting Robert is more than he's allowed.

Robert moves for the door. "We could be happy, you know."

Jimmy knows. God, does he know. He stays silent, certain his voice will betray him if he speaks, and holds the door open. Robert looks agonized, but he leaves.

Jimmy shuts him out and tries to breathe through the sobs racking his lungs.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written months ago as my first foray into this pairing, so if you're frowning intensely at characterization and whatnot, i don't blame you. there's just something about this that bugs me, but i can't put my finger on it. but i thought i'd post it anyway because who knows?


End file.
